


Youth Is Wasted On The Young

by kuonji



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Family, Gen, Humor, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 05:52:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4694471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuonji/pseuds/kuonji
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Despite his New Year's Resolution to stop heeling like a trained puppy every time the Bat called (but when had he ever succeeded in that, anyway?) his curiosity had gotten the better of him.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Youth Is Wasted On The Young

There was no warning, as usual. One second, he was putting the fear of dark things in the night into a punk kid, and the next, a familiar gravelly voice was demanding in his ear, _"Nightwing."_

He didn't bother biting back a curse. "Kinda in the middle of something here!" He checked the interface on his wrist. No, no incoming request. Nothing.

"Is it important?" The tone made it less of a question and more of a granted courtesy.

Nightwing grimaced. The punk in his grip, thinking it was meant for him, fell to outright sobbing. Nice to know he could still intimidate some people, at least. "It's always important," he replied shortly.

The kid -- all of maybe fourteen -- yelped. "I'll clean it all up, I swear! I'll never knock over another garbage can again, honest!"

Yesterday, he'd saved five people from a fire. Last week, he'd shut down a new tendril of coke traffic before Mrs. Minh could establish her new source from Brazil. Earlier tonight, he'd stopped two robberies and a car theft. So of course Bruce picked right now to check up on him.

"Yes, I can see how busy you are." Nightwing scowled again. Batman's sarcasm was not something he enjoyed being directed at himself.

"I'm just taking out some trash. What do you want?" He realized suddenly that, over the renewed blubbering of the kid in his grip, he was hearing a younger wailing voice from the other side of the comm link. "Uh. Where are you?"

"Come to the cave. Now."

"I have plans." Not really. But he could have had.

" _Now_."

"Damn it, Ba--"

"Bring your Robin suit."

"What?" But the conection had gone dead. Typical.

***

"Okay, so what's going on here?" he asked, as soon as he'd parked his bike and pulled off his helmet. He pulled the strap of his satchel over his head and held it up. "And why do you need this?" Despite his New Year's Resolution to stop heeling like a trained puppy every time the Bat called (but when had he ever succeeded in that, anyway?) his curiosity had gotten the better of him.

"Does it still fit you?"

Okaaaay. "Was tonight kink night and I forgot?"

Bruce had his cowl off, but he could manage the Bat-glare just fine without.

"By the way, whose kid is that?"

He pointed to a dark-haired toddler of four or five, who was currently bawling his eyes out. That wasn't a huge surprise, seeing as Bruce -- or someone with a similar level of sensitivity -- had strapped his tiny wrists down to the arms of the chair he sat in. Alfred must be out on errands. Dick was surprised Bruce hadn't sent an SOS to the kindly valet ages ago. Kids were not Bruce's strong suit.

Bruce grunted and made a face that Dick would almost describe as a wince.

"Let me guess, this is Gotham's new super-villain."

The kid quieted slightly and stared at Dick.

"Hey, little guy." He made a goofy face, hoping for a laugh.

Instead, it set the kid off again. Wow, the acoustics in the Cave were fantastic. Dick resisted covering his ears only because masked crime-fighters were supposed to be tougher than that.

Bruce, to his surprise, gave him a reproving look. "Stop that. You're scaring him."

" _I'm_ \--?" Dick exclaimed, indignant. "I didn't tie him to a chair." The kid started hurling his body back and forth in a fit, struggling and kicking his legs out, rocking the chair side to side, nearly off its feet.

Bruce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I couldn't restrain him any other way. He's very... resourceful."

Dick frowned and looked back and forth between Bruce and the kid. The tiny toddler was now frowning in concentration. His kicks had become rhythmic, and Dick could see that the chair would tip over any sec--

The aforementioned acoustics amplified the clatter of the chair on the rock floor, echoing it around until a few dozen bats took off in fright. The boy yanked at his bonds and pushed against the floor with his feet (which he could now reach) for additional leverage.

Dick crossed his arms, then removed his mask to make maximum use of raised eyebrows. "That's Tim, isn't it?"

Bruce didn't try to deny it. His stiff nod looked pained.

A grin spread completely unrepentantly across Dick's face. Tim couldn't be in any imminent danger, with Bruce looking long-suffering rather than being in full-on Bat-vengeance-save-the-day mode. Which meant that Dick's most urgent course of action was to a) find out what happened and b) get a camera.

"Wasn't he going on a road trip with the boys? How did _this_ happen?"

"He and his... friends angered a witch."

The pause made Dick roll his eyes in amusement. Bruce treated Young Justice like some necessary evil, yet he had been the first to approve Tim forming the team. It was kind of sweet that Bruce wanted Tim to have friends. Guess Dick and the Teen Titans had eventually won him over. There were certainly benefits to a sidekick having his own heroing life away from under Batman's watchful scowl.

"How did they run into a witch on vacation?"

"Reports are a little confused, since Superboy wasn't present and Impulse is not the most reliable of witnesses. Apparently they angered the curator of a roadside attraction." There was a telling pause. "The Fountain of Youth."

"So. Not just a tourist gimmick."

"The Fountain was. But the curator was a genuine witch. Zatanna had a talk with her about hexing random people who annoyed her. Unfortunately, there's no direct counter-spell for this, but the good news is that it's temporary."

"How temporary?"

"Twenty-four hours. Tim should be back to normal tomorrow afternoon."

Plenty of time for the world's most adorable blackmail photos ever.

Dick approached his now _littler_ little brother, holding his hands up in the universal sign for 'I'm friendly!' Tim glared at him with outright suspicion.

"Hey, Tim. It's okay, buddy. It's me."

"He doesn't seem to remember you," Bruce observed unnecessarily, as Tim tried to bite Dick when he reached to right the chair. "I was hoping he would. He was five years old when he met you for the first time."

Dick glanced back at his bike and the satchel he'd laid across the seat. "The suit?"

"I thought it might jog something. At the least, they're your family's colors. You made an impression the first time around. I thought it was worth a shot."

Dick telegraphed his incredulity. "That's not the best logic, big guy."

Bruce's answer was forestalled by Tim starting to scream his head off again. "I've spent the last three hours listening to that!" he shouted over the noise. That was probably answer enough. Dick had read studies about how sustained, high-pitched, and oscillating noises lowered brain functions.

"Let me gooooooo! I want my Mom and Dad!"

This time, Dick did wince. Crouching down next to the red-faced boy, he replied in a calm voice, "They're not here right now, Timmy. But don't worry, because we'll take good care of you."

His sensitivity was misplaced.

"I want Mrs. Mac!" Tim screamed, without missing a beat. "You can't keep me here. It's _kidnapping_. You're going to _jail_. Veggie-lanties are _illegal_!"

"Are they, now? Do they catch vegetarians?" Dick shot Bruce a mischievous grin which was, predictably, met with stoic disapproval.

Tim pouted. "No!" His little legs pedaled furiously in the air, setting the chair to rocking dangerously again. "They break stuff and make trouble! And they're big, fat liars, like Mister Wayne! He pretended to be nice to me, but he's a mean, mean, mean, mean veggie-lantie _jerk_!"

Dick turned to Bruce inquiringly. The man sighed.

"I locked him in his bedroom, hoping it'd calm him. He got out and made it to the ground floor. He remembered it from a visit when he was four, and he put two and two together."

"So a five-year-old with no preparation and no memory of any training outwitted you _and_ figured out The Secret," Dick concluded.

Bruce didn't deign to answer.

 _So much_ blackmail material.

  


END.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this story, you might try these:  
> [How Not To Blow Your Not-Secret Identity](http://archiveofourown.org/works/557588) (Young Justice), by kuonji  
> [The Correlation Of Youth To Maturity](http://archiveofourown.org/works/815278) (Batman), by kuonji  
> [Flippin' Out](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3685650) (Robin), by kuonji  
> [The Adventures of Tiny Tim](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1030237) (Batman, Robin), by heartslogo


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